


take me to your river

by wren_rw



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben is alive, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Other, ben hargreeves FINALLY gets a hug, reference to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wren_rw/pseuds/wren_rw
Summary: “I want to come near, and give you every part of me. But there's blood on my hands, and my lips are unclean."Ben is seventeen years old and not a monster.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves/Original Character(s), Ben Hargreeves/Reader, Ben Hargreeves/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	take me to your river

"Ow, _Jesus-"_ Ben's face scrunches indignantly, in a way that would have been sort of adorable if it didn't completely break your concentration.

You're focused on sewing the cut across his eyebrow closed, and to be honest- his running commentary really isn't doing you any favors.

"It wouldn't hurt so much if you just...quit _moving_ -"

"Alright, sorry. Just-" Another wince escapes his mouth, and he barely restrains himself from jerking away. " _Ow_ \- go easy, would you?"

"I'm almost done." You meet his eyes, and your lip twitches despite yourself at his impatience. It's not like you're enjoying this, but... Snarky Ben is kind of your favorite. As quiet as he usually is, you take pride in being the one of the only people who can coax it out of him.

You cut the thread with a pair of nail clippers, before taking the wet cloth from your bedside table and carefully wiping the blood from his skin. "And... _voilà_."

Smiling, you finally lean back to admire your handiwork. "There, see? Just like new."

Ben hesitantly raises his hand to feel the line of stitches across his brow. You can still see signs of the stormcloud that always follows him home after missions, but his mouth quirks slightly at your enthusiasm. "I mean, you didn't gouge my eyes out, so... not bad." 

“ _Wow _, Ben. High praise.” You do your best to look insulted, which, in retrospect- probably would have been more effective if you weren’t still sitting on his lap. "If you’re not going to thank me, you could at least say something nice.”_ _

__

____

Ben rolls his eyes at your dramatics, but a fond smile plays on his lips as he takes you in, considering.

__

“I like your eyes,” he offers. His cheeks darken somewhat at his own honesty, but he doesn’t back down. “And you smell nice. Like cake.”

__

“...Oh.”

__

_T_ hat’s not exactly what you meant... but it’s not like you're going to complain. In fact, you're not sure how to say _anything _to that. Or... speak english, suddenly.__

__

Sometimes you sort of forget that Ben is your boyfriend, now- like, your _actual boyfriend._ Every time that fact reoccurs to you, it’s almost too much for you to take. You must be blushing even harder than you realize, because Ben starts laughing, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

__

_“Shut uuuuup,”_ you plead, hitting him half-heartedly. “I’m serious, Ben- it’s not even funny-”

__

His laughter only intensifies, to the point that he has to cradle his head on your shoulder. “You’re so red, _oh my god-”_

__

“Shut up!”

__

Undeterred, his answering grin is so bright that you almost have to shield your eyes. _“You liiiiiike meee…”_

__

He’s practically singing now, gloating and completely ridiculous, and… right. He's right.

__

You do. God, _you really do_ , so much that it’s embarrassing sometimes. But of course you’re not going to tell him that.

__

“We’re dating, you idiot.” You finally take control over the heat in your cheeks, and shake your head, doing your best to come across as exasperated. “God, sometimes I miss when you were too scared to talk to me.”

__

Ben hums noncommittally, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Liar.”

__

He’s right, again- but before you can retort, your gaze slips down to find a mark along the collar of his shirt. It's stark against the starched fabric, and you have no idea how you didn't notice it before.

__

“Wait. Ben... what’s-”

__

Before he can react, you’re moving his jacket out of the way to find the deep red stain crossing his shoulder and all the way down his back.

__

“Oh my god. _You’re hurt,_ dumbass, _why didn’t you tell me-”_

__

You’re about to pull the fabric out of the way when Ben catches your hands, something suddenly akin to panic on his face. “Don’t.”

__

His voice is so sharp that you actually freeze. You’ve never heard him use that tone before.

__

Looking closer, you find that all the softened, comfortable edges you had worked so hard to bring to his face are suddenly gone. He looks like he's right back to the scared, dejected boy that you found waiting at your doorstep, and _you have no idea what the hell is wrong._

__

“Don’t.” Ben's lowered his voice somewhat, but his grip is still fast around your fingers. “Just... don’t touch it, okay? Please.”

__

“Ben.. I don’t…” You trail off, not exactly sure what to say. You don’t understand- but you want to. You want to know why you can’t help him, when there’s pain written so clearly across his face. “But, you’re hurt.”

__

Conflict crosses his face in one hundred different shades- and for some reason, he looks like he's torn halfway between leaning into you and pulling away. When he sighs, the sound stutters through him, as if it almost got stuck halfway through his chest.

__

“No, y/n. I’m... I’m not.”

__

When he finally meets your eyes, you recognize something. An expression that looks like grief and guilt. The combination is far too familiar for your taste- Ben wears them both far more often than you would like.

__

“It’s not mine.”

__

Realization dawns upon you in small increments. _It’s not his blood._ And then, shorty afterwards- _you're an idiot._  
The academy had a mission tonight, and sometimes... that involves hurting people. On bad days, even worse. You know that from experience, from countless nights of desperately trying to convince your boyfriend that he’s not some kind of monster. Suddenly, the weight that Ben’s been carrying on his shoulders all night makes so much more sense.

__

“Okay.” Swallowing, you take the time to choose your words. You know that your reaction means everything to him right now.

__

“But you should still take it off, Ben. You don’t have to wear it all the time.”

__

Of course, you mean the ruined uniform, but more than that… he shouldn’t have to wear that guilt. He shouldn’t have to wear the evidence of what he’s done, a crimson stain like testimony down his back- like it’s some sort of _brand_. Not when it’s never his fault, never his _choice_.

__

“I’ll help you take it off?”

__

“No,” he says quickly, but he at least has the presence of mind to look apologetic after a moment. “No, don’t touch it, please. I just…”

__

After another deep breath, he seems to force the words over his tongue, one syllable at a time. “Someone like you shouldn't have someone else's blood on their hands.”

__

You blink. You’re familiar with all of Ben’s post-mission rituals- as soon as he gets back, he’s always cleaned his hands at least three times, even going as far as to scrub religiously beneath his fingernails. It’s like he thinks he’s carrying some kind of disease, or something- and he won’t be cured until every drop of blood has been washed thoroughly down the drain.

__

But for that to extend to keeping _your_ hands clean… it’s almost like he’s afraid of contaminating _you_ somehow.

__

You breathe, your mouth suddenly bone dry. “Ben-”

__

“I know.” His tone says that he knows exactly what you’re about to say, but doesn’t want to hear it. “I know. It’s just… _it’s_ _fine_.”

__

_It’s not-_ but he doesn’t give you time to protest. “I’ll take care of it, okay?”

__

The fact that he’s fighting to keep his voice soft, reassuring- like he’s trying to comfort _you_ \- is enough to make you want to scream. And you would have- you would have voiced _every single one_ of the concerns currently lodged in your throat... if it weren’t for the expression on Ben’s face. 

__

Your entire life, even before Ben opened up to you properly, you’ve always had an uncanny ability to read him like a book. You know this boy by heart- maybe even better than you know yourself. 

__

And if the look on his face is any indication... confrontation isn’t what he needs right now.

__

Everyone has a different way to cope with their world going to hell, and Ben... well. Ben does exactly what he's doing right now. He buries his head in the sand. He retreats into himself, like a snail into it's shell, and after all these years spent at his side, you know that the only hope of him ever coming out again is to wait. Any amount of poking, prodding, or trying to force him into the light only makes it worse.

__

So... you let him take off the bloody shirt himself, careful to keep your hands folded in your lap. You lend him your sweatshirt, and you both end up curled up against each other in your twin-sized poster bed, his dark hair soft between your fingers. 

__

And as much as it kills you to keep quiet, you don't talk about it. Not yet.

__

Ben is stiff, at first, his muscles tense like a coiled wire, but as you start to play with his hair in earnest- winding your fingers through his roots- he slowly softens into the cotton sheets. You smile to yourself as he finally slips his hand under the hem of your shirt, stroking the bare skin of your back.

__

He's always been comforted by skin-on-skin contact, but it takes a while for him to work himself up to it. Especially after missions. He doesn't seem to like the idea of hands that have hurt people coming anywhere near _"someone like you"._ Even when those hands belong to him. 

__

You're going to have to talk about it. 

__

But not tonight. 

__

__

Tonight, it's enough to take his hands and bring them to your mouth. Kiss each of his fingertips, and then his knuckles, and then the center of each palm.

__

_It's enough to show him that no crime he's committed will ever change the way his fingers fit between yours._

__

__

It's enough to trail your fingers along his sternum, tracing the crease where the Horror bursts free from his chest. It's enough to kiss, to dip your tongue into his mouth, to tuck your head into his neck and breathe in his scent.

__

_It's enough to show him that there is not a single inch of him that goes unloved._

__

__

The tears come right on time, and you catch them with your lips, your fingers, and the soft fabric of your shirt. 

__

__

...

__

__

_It's enough, for now, to show him that nothing will ever come between you. Nothing will ever scare you away._

__

**Author's Note:**

> “Dip me in your smooth waters. I go in as a man with many crimes, come up for air as my sins flow down the jordan. Take me to your river. I want to go.”
> 
> The song is by Leon Bridges! Please give it a listen, it's absolutely gorgeous. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I love and appreciate every one of you. If you have the time, let me know what you think!! Getting any sort of feedback on my writing always makes my day. Xx


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